


To Ward Against The Shadows

by thethirdson



Category: Nine Parchments (Video Game), Trine 4: The Nightmare Prince
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Puppy Love, References to Cornelius and Selius co-op dialogue in 9P, Takes place post Nine Parchments and Trine 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26667739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethirdson/pseuds/thethirdson
Summary: Selius returns to the Academy. Cornelius is overjoyed and determined to, at last, make a friend.
Relationships: Cornelius Crownsteed/Selius Heatherwood
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	To Ward Against The Shadows

”Oh golly, you’re back!”  
  
Selius groans inwardly as soon as he recognises Cornelius’s voice. Would be hard not to recognise him, really. No one else in the Academy talks like him, with that unmistakeable upperclass lilt that’s made him the butt of many jokes already.

’The Crownsteed prat’, some call him.

Selius keeps walking, just barely slowing down enough for the other boy to catch up with him. Cornelius is beaming, and he already sounds out of breath when he opens his mouth.  
  
”You came back!” he repeats. ”Gosh, it’s so good to see you! Are you all right? You look a little under the weather, if it’s not rude to say so.”  
  
Selius tries not to roll his eyes. ”Just tired, that’s all.”  
  
”How come you're back? I thought you were leaving the Academy for good.”  
  
”And I did. For a while, at least.”  
  
Cornelius is still looking at him expectantly, but Selius doesn’t elaborate. He hitches the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder and says, ”do you know where the History of Spellcraft classroom is? The professors didn’t bother giving me a map.”  
  
Cornelius blinks slowly, as though processing the words. ”You, you’re taking classes with us now?”  
  
”I guess so.”  
  
His face splits into a grin.  
  
”That’s awesome!” he exclaims loudly, and the other students passing them turn to glance at them curiously. Selius quickens his pace and Cornelius trods after him happily like an excited puppy, his heels clattering against the floor with each step. ”Did you say History? As in, the lecture that's starting in five minutes? That means you’re in my class!”  
  
”Wonderful,” Selius mutters under his breath. He starts when Cornelius grabs him by the arm and pulls him along. ”Hey, what are you doing?”  
  
”Oh, sorry,” Cornelius says and withdraws his hand, seeing his expression. ”Sorry. Just follow me, I’ll show you the way! Oh, and we can sit together if you’d like – unless you’re bothered by sitting at the back of the class.”  
  
Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. Attention is the last thing he wants right now. Selius almost manages a stiff smile, which dies instantly as he suddenly recalls the conversations they had during the parchment hunt what feels like years ago. A pair of younger students come up behind them, one of them bumping into Cornelius as they brush past.  
  
”Oh, pardon me, young lord Crownsteed,” she sniggers. She and her friend burst into laughter and they scurry away, still giggling. It rouses a wave of laughter from the others in the corridor as well.  
  
Cornelius laughs, too, but there’s no feeling in it. He’s beet-red in the face, and he doesn’t meet Selius’s eyes as he continues walking as though nothing happened.  
  
”Hey, wait up,” Selius says, and this time, it’s he who rushes after Cornelius.  
  
”Sorry,” Cornelius says, and his voice sounds strained. ”Perhaps we shouldn’t sit together after all. They might start making fun of you, too, if we do.”  
  
”That was totally uncalled for. Why didn’t you say anything to them?”  
  
”You didn’t say anything, either.”  
  
It sounds almost like an accusation.  
  
”Oh. Right.” Selius purses his lips. ”I’m sorry. Should have intervened.”  
  
Cornelius shakes his head. ”It’s better that you don’t. I don’t want you to get targeted.”  
  
Selius sighs. ”I don’t care what they think. Let’s go find that classroom and grab ourselves some seats in the backrow before someone else does, shall we?”  
  
And he doesn’t admit it even to himself, but he feels a rush of relief as Cornelius’s face lights up again.  
  


* * *

  
”How am I supposed to know these things? I’m at least two books behind the rest of you.”  
  
”You’re doing pretty well, honestly! It just needs some touch-ups here and there,” Cornelius says, but his tone gives away that he’s not being as honest as he claims.  
  
”Touch-ups?”  
  
”Well.” A pause. ”Perhaps ’corrections’ would be a better word.”  
  
”How about I go with the ”re-write the whole thing or give up” route instead?”  
  
”Er...”  
  
Selius sighs and crumples up his would-be essay. Fives pages on contemporary spellcrafting when he’s spent the best part of the past two years studying things like meditation in the dungeons. He doesn’t have the knowledge the rest of his classmates do, and Cornelius insisting he borrow his old textbooks for light bedtime reading won’t fix it.  
  
”It seriously wasn’t that bad,” Cornelius assures him and fishes the wrinkly paper out of the bin. ”Just a little lacking in details. I mean, done is better than perfect, right?”  
  
”Don’t say that when Carabel’s around,” Selius mumbles darkly. He leans back and slides at least five inches off the chair with a tired sigh. His head’s throbbing. There has been an unpleasant feeling behind his temples all afternoon, a pressure building up that threatens a fullblown migraine. Figures. He’s in control, yes, but the Shadow’s whispering seeps into his dreams and still keeps him up at night sometimes.  
  
”Selius?”  
  
Selius looks up. Cornelius is looking at him imploringly – how does he always sport that exact look every time Selius catches his eye? - and he realises he’s not taken in a word the other boy said.  
  
”Sorry. Zoned out for a bit. Headache.” He rubs his temple wearily, then picks up the quill again.  
  
”Do you need a break?”  
  
”No. I want to finish this thing tonight.”  
  
Cornelius scoots closer. ”You can take a look at mine for ideas, if you’d like. Just don’t copy it word for word – you know how professor Butternut is.”  
  
”Yeah. I wouldn’t put it past him to put us both in the dungeon if he catches us cheating.”  
  
Cornelius blanches for a second, then laughs nervously.  
  


* * *

  
Professor Butternut paces back and forth in front of the blackboard with his hands clasped behind his back. Selius is dozing off; the nightmares woke him up three times during the night, and Butternut’s monotonous tirade isn’t exactly holding him spellbound. He slips back in his seat, head drooping towards his chest. The room is sweltering. If only someone would open the windows. He feels his eyelids slipping closed, and then someone pokes him in the ribs and whispers, ”wake up.”  
  
Selius starts so violently that his knees collide with the desk and send his belongings clattering. Two rows down Carabel glances over her shoulder at them and scowls. On the other side of the student podium Gislan does the same.  
  
Professor Butternut turns back to the blackboard and lifts his wand. Instantly a complicated-looking chart of elemental combinations starts appearing on the board. For some reason it lets out the same noise as chalk on blackboard, and on the opposite side of the room Rudolfus’s head shoots up, his ears drawn back in displeasure.  
  
Cornelius bends closer and whispers in Selius’s ear, so quietly that it’s almost lost underneath the noise.  
  
”You all right?”  
  
”Didn’t sleep well last night,” Selius mutters back at him.  
  
”Nightmares again?”  
  
”Tell you later.”  
  
”But—”  
  
”Cornelius Crownsteed!” professor Butternut shouts. His hands are at his waist, and the expression behind his beard is thunderous. Both boys automatically recoil in their seats and the rest of the class turns to stare at them. ”What have I told you about talking during my class?”  
  
”I-I’m sorry, professor,” Cornelius stammers. ”Won’t happen again.”  
  
”Since you’re so eager to contribute to class, would you please remind us of the most common magical elements and their opposite elements?”  
  
Cornelius blinks. He clears his throat. ”Um. Fire and ice, lightning and steam, life and… uh.” His brows furrow with concentration. ”Life and shadow, was it?”  
  
Selius buries his face in his hand.  
  
”Life and death, young man, life and death! I sincerely hope you’ll perform better in your practical exam next week,” the professor corrects him. Cornelius flushes and his gaze drops on the floor. He’s practically radiating heat. A couple of students snigger behind their books, and Selius shoots a dirty glare their way. ”Very well. Miss Carabel, would you please tell us what one needs to keep in mind when combining elemental spells?”  
  
As Carabel stands up and starts talking, Selius reaches out underneath the desk and pats Cornelius on the knee, mouthing a silent ’sorry’. They don’t talk again until the lecture is over.  
  


* * *

  
Cornelius grabs Selius's sleeve as soon as they join the throng of students filing out of the classroom. He's grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"So the festival next week, eh? Aren’t you excited?” he asks for what feels like the fifteenth time that week.  
  
”I’d rather stay in my room, to be honest.”  
  
There are posters all over the walls on every corridor, but even without the posters it would be impossible to forget about the approaching autumn festival. It feels like it’s the only topic they hear anyone talk about any more. Leaves have turned golden in the grounds. Decorations are hanging from the banisters and statues, and the gardens are now brightly illuminated even at night with hundreds of colourful lanterns.  
  
”Come on, don’t say that,” Cornelius complains. ”It’ll be so much fun! Did you see the menu in the dining hall? They’ll have special meals, desserts, drinks… I bet even professor Butternut might let us off his lectures a little earlier!”  
  
”Keep dreaming.”  
  
”The theatre group’s performing on Thursday night, and then there’s the feast on Friday. And the school band is performing in the garden! Think, they’ll let us out on the grounds past curfew!”  
  
“I wouldn’t put it past Butternut to still give us detentions if we leave the castle.”  
  
“You’ll at least come and see the play, right? It’s-”  
  
“Hurry up, you two, you’re almost late!” Their teacher for the next class, Practical Potioneering, is standing by the doorway, arms crossed. Cornelius and Selius share a look, then hurry to class in silence.  
  


* * *

“Leave at least one desk between yourselves and the next student,” the Master Wizardess says in her ringing voice. “And check the blackboard for allowed equipment. Bring the rest of your belongings to the supervisor’s desk before the break is over. Any attempts at cheating will result in your paper being immediately disqualified!”  
  
There is a lot of general noise as the students scurry around and take out quills and ink pots from their bags and try to grab the best sitting places. The Master Wizardess leaves the examination hall just as the clock tolls 3 o’clock, pausing briefly to exchange some words with Carabel.  
  
Cornelius fumbles with his things, hands clearly shaking. In Selius’s opinion he looks like he’s going to be sick. Selius takes a seat in front of him, head suddenly emptied of everything he’s ever learned of aquatic flora and their uses in modern herbology, despite three long nights of studying. The hands of the clock point at ten past three. Selius exhales slowly, but it does nothing to calm his nerves.  
  
Carabel is walking between the desks, pausing to hand out print-outs to some students. As she gets closer and gives one to Gislan, Selius can finally spy the headline: ‘The Astral Academy Theatre Club: Lady Ironspear The Brave. Script and notes for participants’. Gislan even manages to smile at Carabel as she takes the note and folds it in her pocket.  
  
Selius unscrews his ink bottle just as Carabel brushes past him and says in a low voice, “and here’s yours, Cornelius. Practice is tonight at eight. Make sure to read through your lines before that.”  
  
“I-I’ll be there,” Cornelius answers. Selius shoots a look over his shoulder, surprised.  
  
“You’re in the play?”  
  
Cornelius manages an awkward smirk. Before he can say anything, however, Wilhelmina returns and snaps her fingers.  
  
“Take your seats and no more talking! Here are the examination parchments, please pass them around the class, quickly now…”  
  
Selius rips a small piece off the corner of his parchment and writes a quick message on it: ‘I’ll come see the play, promise’, it says. He turns towards Cornelius and passes the exam parchments and the note to him.  
  
Cornelius’s face lights up when he reads it, then turns in his seat to pass the parchment stack to the student behind him.  
  
After two hours of writing Selius’s wrist hurts, but he finishes his essay with a flourish just as the Master Wizardess announces that they have ten minutes left. It’s not the best essay he’s ever written, but he’s happily surprised that he at least managed to meet the minimum requirement of one and a half foot of text. He proofreads it once more and the clock in the corridor tolls.  
  
“Time’s up,” Wilhelmina calls, which is instantly met by audible groans from the students. “Put down your quills, everyone. Yes, miss Gislan, that applies to you too.”  
  
A small, crumpled up note lands on Selius’s desk just as the Master Wizardess flicks her staff and their essay parchments lift off and fly towards her outstretched hand. Selius opens the note as discreetly as he can. It’s his earlier message. Cornelius has doodled a happy face beneath it in answer.  
  
Selius glances over his shoulder and Cornelius smiles from ear to ear when their eyes meet. Selius tries to smile back, though he’s not sure if he manages it; he suddenly feels like he’s sitting in a warm sunbeam.

* * *

  
“-and what adventures awaited our brave heroes next? Well, that is a story for another time entirely. Lady Ironspear and her comrades parted ways at the castle’s gates, and they knew they would one day meet again should the kingdom need its heroes once more,” Carabel finishes with a mighty oomph to her magically enhanced voice. She bows, a banged up helmet held underneath her arm, and the others, standing in a line on both sides of her, imitate her. The play ends with a thunderous applause, and Selius joins the clapping. He can’t quite resist smiling, despite himself.  
  
The actors take each other’s hands and bow again. Cornelius looks almost painfully excited next to Carabel. Selius can guess why. The other students haven’t bothered him as much recently, but he was still a bundle of nerves before the play as if fearing they’d start heckling him during the play. Now, receiving the audience’s applause onstage with his classmates, his nervousness melts away and he grins as Carabel claps him on the shoulder.  
  
The play was nothing special - a light-hearted tale of a knight (played by Carabel) and her comrades rising up against an army of goblins, with several songs about bravery and magic sung by the school choir illustrating the adventurers’ many battles - but Cornelius hadn’t talked about much else in the past days. He had spent the evenings rehearsing his lines with obvious enjoyment, and Selius could only admire how immersed he got in the story.  
  
The crowd thins and starts to file out of the room. Selius hangs back, and ten minutes later Cornelius comes rushing out of the dressing rooms, wearing his own clothes again. He’s beaming.  
  
Selius only has the time to lift his hand in a greeting before Cornelius has grabbed him into a crushing, one-armed hug.  
  
“I remembered my lines! I didn’t stumble even once!” Cornelius exclaims and lets go of him. He bounces on his heels. “I don’t know what happened - I was so scared before, but as I went on the stage I just focused on my lines and forgot I was nervous at all.”  
  
“Well, there you go. You were worried for no reason.”  
  
“Carabel told me afterwards that I did really well. Carabel! That’s glowing praise, coming from her! Gislan said I wasn’t too bad, though she thinks I need to work on my delivery. That I should speak more clearly.”  
  
“That’s just how Gislan is. I think you looked really cool up there.”  
  
Cornelius grabs him by the arm as they set off. He’s wearing the biggest grin on his face, and Selius doesn’t try to shake him off for once.  
  
“And did you notice? No one laughed at me! They even applauded me after my soliloqui!”  
  
Selius just smiles and doesn’t interrupt his prattle to do more than nod every now and then to signal he’s listening. He can’t recall if he’s ever seen Cornelius this happy. There’s something infectious about his high spirits, and for once neither of them notices or cares if the other students point at them.  
  
The dining hall is full of students, and enchanted lanterns in all colours of the rainbow float high up in the air. Navigating to the serving tables takes a long time - Owl has interrupted the queue with an animated one-bird re-enactment of the play’s scene where the goblins steal a mechanical bird (who also resembled an owl, most curiously) from a wizard’s workshop - and they take the long way around to avoid getting zapped. They both pile as much food on their plates as they can and sneak out of the room just as professor Butternut arrives on the scene and starts shouting.  
  
“No point in eating there, all the seats were taken,” Cornelius says, looking around. “Where should we go?”  
  
“Back to our rooms?”  
  
“It’s too early for that. Don’t tell me you want to leave already?”  
  
Quite frankly Selius would, but he sees the expression on the other’s face and says instead, “of course not. How about the library? Should be empty enough with a party going on.”  
  
“The library?” Cornelius sounds disappointed.  
  
“We can eat and listen to the band on the balcony. They have it open all night for the festival.”  
  
“Oh. That’s all right, then.”  
  
The library is as empty as Selius anticipated. Apart from the two of them the only visitors seem to be couples, snuggling between shelves or crammed in one-person study booths. Selius feels strangely self-conscious as they climb the stairs to the second floor and he looks away quickly. They sneak between shelves to avoid the librarians seeing them with their very much forbidden snacks and finally find the balcony, all of its glass door pulled wide open to let in the cool night time air. The balcony hangs almost directly above the grounds, and the view at this hour is magnificent.  
  
”Wow, look at this,” Cornelius breathes. He sets his plate on the single table that's been pushed on the balcony. Judging by the dirty plates and empty tea cups it hasn't been vacant for long. A small, carved pumpkin sits in the middle, melted candlewax pouring out of the grinning mouth.  
  
Selius takes a seat on the other side of the table, sets down his things, and leans over the banister.  
  
”Nice view.”  
  
”Yeah,” Cornelius agrees. ”The sky's cleared up, too.”  
  
It's a star bright night. A pale half-moon is just rising behind the second wing.  
  
'I haven't seen a night like this pretty in a while,' Selius thinks to himself. In an instant his thoughts are filled with images of a night time forest under bright moonlight, and white, shining flowers extending as far as the eye can see, only ever blooming in the dark. The Shadow remembers, too, and Selius shivers as the image is maimed by the howling of wolves. Of course. There's nothing in his mind that's safe from the Shadow's touch.  
  
With a sigh Selius turns to his plate and takes a piece of pumpkin pie.  
  
”Is something the matter?” Cornelius asks.  
  
Selius shrugs.  
  
”Are you angry with me?”  
  
”It's not you,” he says glumly. ”I just don't like the night. Or the dark.”  
  
”Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
”Not particularly.”  
  
”You know, you could always tell me about it,” Cornelius says hesitantly. ”I mean, I might not be able to do anything, but I could lend an ear at least.”  
  
Selius has to force himself to look at him, not quite knowing what he's expecting to see. He's tried hard not to hang out with him after sundown; the Shadow has a habit of whispering in his ear during the dark hours, and he doesn't want it to seep its poison into whatever he now has with Cornelius. It's been so long since he's had a friend. But Cornelius looks the same as ever with those earnest eyes of his, expression unusually sombre, and even the Shadow remains quiet.  
  
Selius sighs again. ”I wouldn't know where to start. It's a long story.”  
  
”Is it something to do with why they kept you locked up before?”  
  
”Sort of.” Selius rubs his temple, then takes another piece of the pie. ”This is going to sound insane. I've got this… problem with my magic. Dream magic, to be precise. It manifests when I'm sleeping, and sometimes, it gets out of hand.”  
  
”Out of hand?”  
  
”Sometimes the things I dream become real. Want to know why I was sent here in the first place? I had a nightmare about wolves, one of them jumped out of the dream and set the bloody manor on fire.” He laughs bitterly and stabs the remains of his pie with the spoon so hard that Cornelius jumps. ”I haven't even seen my parents ever since. They don't want me to come home.”  
  
”That's… I'm so sorry.” He looks it, too. ”I didn't know.”  
  
”Well, I don't generally go around telling people that I might be a danger to them. Who wants to make friends with a crazy pyromaniac who can't even control his own magic.”  
  
”You're not crazy,” Cornelius cuts over him. ”And I don't know about the others, but I'm your friend. I'm not afraid of you. Surely your parents will come to understand that it was an accident.”  
  
”We don't all have nice, loving families just because you do.”  
  
The words come out more acidic than Selius intended, and Cornelius starts as if hit. Selius immediately hates himself for it. Sweet, simple-minded, pampered Cornelius with his loving parents and a welcoming home to go back to for holidays. Selius almost wants to hate him for it, almost, if not for the fact that it's not Cornelius's fault. Deep down he hears the Shadow's voice agreeing with him. Certainly, he's lived a more sheltered life than Selius has and it has left him almost laughably naïve, but even Selius can see that he's being sincere.  
  
”Sorry. I don't know why I said that,” Selius mutters, face burning up.  
  
They eat the rest of their food in an uncomfortable silence, both of them avoiding each other's eyes. Cornelius is only playing with his food. In the garden the band starts playing some soothing melody with harps and flutes. Selius glances down. Students lounge in the grass listening, laughing, playing cards, and some singing along. He can just make out Gislan sharing a picnic quilt with Rudolfus, who appears to be fast asleep.  
  
Selius pushes his plate away, the pie still unfinished. His appetite is all but gone. He walks to the other end of the balcony and leans over the banister, thoughts a muddled mess. He hears Cornelius get up, too, and half-expects him to leave, but the other boy joins him silently.  
  
”Sorry,” Selius repeats. ”I know I'm being a jerk.”  
  
Cornelius worries the sleeve of his coat with a thumb and a forefinger, and his voice is very quiet when says, ”I meant what I said, though. I like you. I want to be your friend.”  
  
”You like me?” he asks sceptically. Cornelius's face floods with colour suddenly.  
  
”I mean, as a f-friend! W-we are friends, right?” Cornelius stammers.  
  
That gives Selius a pause. He hasn't had friends in a long time. The idea that Cornelius considers him one makes him feel rather warm, despite them hanging out constantly, and he doesn't really know where to look, so he just settles for staring at his own hands instead.  
  
”I didn't think you actually thought of me that way,” he admits. ”I haven't given you much reason to, anyway.”  
  
”Yes, you have. You're nice to me. You never make fun of me. You listen to me, even when I'm talking about things you probably don't really care about.” Cornelius swallows, looking even more flustered now. ”And last week, when those first-years hid my hat and shoes, you told them off and helped me look for them. No one's ever done that for me.”  
  
Selius open and closes his mouth a few times, at a loss for how to respond. They both seem equally embarrassed and don't quite manage to look at each other directly.  
  
”That's… probably the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me,” Selius says quietly. ”Thanks.”  
  
Cornelius's hand brushes against his on the banister and they both start, but neither draws his hand away. Then, hesitantly, Cornelius puts his hand on Selius's and squeezes it. They turn to look at each other. There's a strange expression on Cornelius's face, his brown eyes very round.  
  
Selius clears his throat, which is very hard, because he suddenly realises there's a lump in it that refuses to budge. ”Cornelius, I...”  
  
He doesn't get any further than that; his mind is curiously blank, and he has no idea what he's even trying to say. Everything seems to happen as though in slow motion. Cornelius squeezes his hand again, then leans in and presses his lips against Selius’s clumsily, and it’s over before he knows how to react.  
  
Cornelius’s face is beet-red as he hastily pulls away, a look of dawning horror on his face.  
  
”Sorry,” he gasps and takes a step back. ”Sorry, I didn’t mean to- I'm just… sorry.”  
  
”Cornelius,” Selius starts, but Cornelius is already storming down the stairs and out of the library. Selius feels his face. It’s burning up. He stumbles back to the table, sits down and realises just how badly his legs are shaking.  
  


* * *

  
Selius doesn't sleep that night. For once it's not the Shadow's doing. He lays in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, and his head is both too full and too empty at once. When sunlight starts creeping in the horizon he pulls the covers over his head, but he can't close his eyes. Every time he tries he just sees Cornelius and his heart starts racing again.  
  
”You look awful,” Gislan informs him over breakfast. ”Were you up all night?”  
  
He pokes at his porridge half-heartedly. His stomach grumbles, but he has no appetite to speak of. ”Couldn't sleep. The music kept me up.”  
  
”Oh, that's right, they were playing pretty late.”  
  
”I didn't know you could hear it all the way down in the dungeons,” Carabel comments, eyebrows furrowed. Selius shrugs and takes another spoonful of the porridge.  
  
He zones out of the prattle, though he can feel everyone's eyes on him. He's not surprised that Cornelius is not at breakfast. Judging by the others asking where he is, he hasn't shown up at all. In celebration of their (in Butterbut's opinion) undeserved autumn break the cooks have outperformed themselves. There are stacks of fluffy pancakes, sweet syrups and honey, puddings, tarts and cinnamon-flavoured porridge and endless pots of tea, all the things that Cornelius loves.  
  
After the others leave Selius stays behind, waiting, but Cornelius never shows up. Selius grabs as many of the pancakes as the plate can fit and nicks one of the baking towels, then makes for Cornelius's room. A sign on the door declares Cornelius Crownsteed in handsome letters, or would, if it wasn't the victim of evident vandalism. The 'Cornelius' part has been crudely covered with tape that's been written on so that it now spells 'the young prat Crownsteed' instead. Selius suspects it's been hexed to be unremovable; he can't imagine Cornelius willingly leaving it there.  
  
Just the idea of facing him makes Selius's stomach clench up with nerves, but he knocks on the door anyway, clears his throat, and calls, ”Cornelius? It's me.”  
  
No answer.  
  
”Come on, open the door.”  
  
Nothing. He peeks through the keyhole. The room appears dark and there's no telling if he's even in there. Selius sighs and wraps the pancake plate in the towel, then places it on the floor, behind the door. He supposes he could always spell the door open, but he instantly decides against it. Worrying for someone is one thing, but he does know when someone wants to be left alone.  
  
Next time he passes by the door the plate and the pancakes are gone, but no one answers the door.  
  


* * *

  
He tosses and turns in bed before falling into restless sleep where he's running away from wolves, then in the next moment he's the wolf, chasing a rabbit, no, a mouse, no, a boy in a red robe. Cornelius glances over his shoulder and yells in fright and starts to run even faster at the sight of him. Like Selius is his worst nightmare.  
  
Nightmare. Something at the back of his mind stresses the word until he's spiralling around it obsessively. Everything shifts and dissolves, convulsing. Everything but Cornelius. The forest turns into the library, then the dining hall, then History of Spellcraft, then the Heatherwood Manor. Cornelius dashes down the stairs, stumbling on books and debris and shadows, and Selius wants to cry after him, but no sound leaves his mouth.  
  
Is it really him or is it the Shadow or perhaps both, Selius doesn't know; in his dreams they blend together seamlessly into one entity. It feels so natural. The very thought terrifies him, them.  
  
This once, however, what they want is the same. They reach out but Cornelius is too far ahead.  
  
”Wait!” Selius shouts inside his head. ”Let me catch up, at least!”  
  
Cornelius is always ahead them, always faster than them. Selius sprints and reaches out to grab the hem of his robe.  
  
”You're going too fast for me,” he says, the Shadow says. Just as they think they've finally caught up the robe starts to burn. Something starts within him and pulls away. Selius watches as Cornelius turns around, eyes wide with shock, before going up in flames and vanishing into smoke, just like his bedroom, just like the manor. Selius sits up with a yell, panting, and he's alone again.  
  
For a while the only sound is his accelerated breathing. He holds his head in his hands. It aches, but the memory of the dream aches more. There's a squeamish feeling in his chest as he recalls Cornelius running away from him – well, him and the Shadow – in a fit of panic, and remembers it wasn't just a dream.  
  
What is this that he's feeling? Fear? Discomfort? No, Selius can tell it's none of those. The memory of Cornelius taking his hand is enough to make him break into sweat. No one's ever done that to him before. The boy's hands are always so warm. Selius is pretty sure his lips were, too – it was over so quickly that he didn't have the chance to really reflect on it. The Shadow's confusion mixes with his. They're both equally at a loss here.  
  
Cornelius. He's always like this, jumping head-first into conclusions. Why did he run away? Was he so afraid of Selius's reaction?  
  
”If only he'd warned me beforehand. Given me some time to think about it first, or, or react in some way,” Selius mutters, rubbing his head.  
  
That gives him a pause. Too fast. That's what he'd said in the dream. Everything happened so fast that it gave him no chance to figure anything out for himself. If only Cornelius had granted him one long, awkward silence. Time to think.  
  
The Shadow asks him, them, a question. Is that all we want? The question floods his mind with images. Passing notes in class. Hands brushing against one another's as though on accident. Smiles. Glances, searching looks that he didn't fully acknowledge at the time. They all curl up into a bundle of wordless feelings at the pit of his stomach.  
  
Selius slumps back on the bed. Long minutes pass as stares at the ceiling and a realisation settles in.  
  
”I'm a moron,” he says out loud.  
  
They need to talk. If only Cornelius would stop running away from him.  
  


* * *

  
It's Saturday morning, and Cornelius is not at breakfast today, either. The other students are whispering about it when they think Selius doesn't hear them, or perhaps they just don't care that he hears them.  
  
He shovels carrot cake in his mouth, trying his best to appear disinterested. It doesn't work, for Carabel turns to him.  
  
”Where's Cornelius? I haven't seen him after the play,” she says. ”You're not fighting, are you?”  
  
”Of course not. He, uh, has the sniffles,” Selius blurts out the first thing that comes into his mind. ”Didn't want to open the door when I stopped by. Said he doesn't want anyone else catching it.”  
  
Behind Carabel's back both Gislan and Rudolfus look sceptical.  
  
”Oh. Well, tell him for me that we've started planning a revue for the Midwinter Festival, so he should talk to me if he wants to participate,” Carabel says.  
  
”I'll let him know.”  
  
He retreats to the library with his homework after breakfast. Trust Butternut to give them homework for the autumn break, he thinks darkly and lays down his pile of library books on an empty table. It's boring, arduous work, and he doesn't feel any wiser four hours later when he packs them away and moves on to History of Spellcraft. It's by far the least interesting subject in Selius's opinion and he wishes Cornelius were accompanying him. They're focusing on recent history this semester, and while neither of them particularly shine in the subject, Cornelius at least has a good memory when it comes to the names of the countless royalty and suitors to the throne that followed the last true king's death. Selius stopped paying attention in class once they were done covering the undead uprising, which he found much more worthwhile.  
  
His eyelids are drooping as he works on the essay. What were the queen and her sister's names again? He flips the page of his textbook with disinterest. Isabel. Right. Something about her disappearance and her sister taking the reins instead. He vaguely remembers his parents talking about it, years and years ago. He'd been too young at the time to really care.  
  
I bet Cornelius would know, Selius thinks, quill pausing on the essay. He stares unseeing at nothing at all while his quill bleeds on the parchment and leaves a big stain on it. He can't concentrate. He lets his eyes close, which is a mistake. With his mind's eye he sees Cornelius leaning towards him again in this very library, and Selius jolts so hard that ink spills from its container and on the essay.  
  
”Oh, come on,” he grumbles. He mops up his ruined would-be essay, then tosses it in the bin. He packs up his things with trembling hands and storms out of the library. He only briefly stops by his room to leave the bag there, then slams the door after himself and takes the stairs out of the dungeon again.  
  
At some point he realises he's running and the other students he passes stare at him, but he doesn't care. By the time he reaches Cornelius's door he's out of breath. He knocks on the door with more force than is necessary. No answer. He huffs irritably, then knocks again, even louder.  
  
”Open the door. I want to talk to you.”  
  
No one opens the door. He resists the urge to kick it, takes a deep breath and continues, ”come on, open. I just want to talk.”  
  
Cornelius's muffled voice answers, ”you sound mad.”  
  
”Of course I'm mad. You've been avoiding me. I thought we were friends.”  
  
There is a long silence. Just as Selius is ready to admit his defeat and leave, the door finally opens and Cornelius's pale face pops into view. He doesn't meet Selius's eye as he scoots back.  
  
”May I come in? I'd rather not talk about this where others can hear us,” Selius says.  
  
Cornelius hesitates, but nods. ”Sure.”  
  
The door closes. The room is a mess, even more so than Selius's own, with open textbooks haphazardly strewn on surfaces and unfinished homework on the floor and on the bedside table. There's a plate of half-eaten pancakes on the desk, Selius notices. They stand around awkwardly without looking at each other. Cornelius is staring at his own shoes, shuffling his weight from one foot to another. Selius scratches at his neck and clears his throat.  
  
”Look, about the other night...”  
  
”I'm sorry,” Cornelius blurts out. ”I'm so sorry, I… I don't know what overcame me. I just freaked out and ran.”  
  
”You don't have to keep apologising.”  
  
He shakes his head. ”I know you're angry with me, I'd be too. I'll never do it again, I promise, I'm just so—”  
  
”Stop saying you're sorry,” Selius interrupts. He doesn't intend for it to sound so snappish, but Cornelius seems to shrink in shame as he backs away from him and slumps down on the edge of his bed. Selius sighs wearily. Cornelius is bright red in the face; he looks terrified, like a child caught in wrong-doing.  
  
Selius forces his feet to obey and slowly approaches him. He feels more nervous than he's ever felt in his entire life (which is saying something, considering his childhood) as he sits next to Cornelius.  
  
”You don't need to apologise. I'm not upset because you… you know,” he falters. For some reason he can't bring himself to say the word 'kissed'. ”I just... You ran away without saying anything. Why?”  
  
”What difference does it make if I did or didn't?” Cornelius says in a strangled voice.  
  
Slowly, hesitantly, Selius reaches out and takes his hand. How warm he is, he realises. Their eyes meet for a moment and Selius realises he's forgotten every word of the speech he's been practising in his head. Oh, to hell with it. He cups Cornelius’s face with his hands and kisses him, full on the mouth. A heartbeat, and the other boy is kissing him back. He’s shaking. They’re both shaking. Their kisses are sloppy, clumsy; neither of them knows what they’re doing. When they break away they both just sit there, staring at their knees.  
  
”That was,” Selius starts, but doesn’t know what he wants to say, so he says nothing.  
  
Cornelius shifts his weight. ”I… I didn’t know you felt the same.”  
  
”I don't think I knew it either, until, well. You know.”  
  
They sit in silence, holding hands, and Selius knows his face is burning up. His heart is racing like he's just run a mile; it jolts in his chest when Cornelius laces their fingers together and gives his hand a tight squeeze.  
  
”So you're not mad at me?”  
  
”Obviously not.”  
  
Cornelius manages a nervous laugh. He scoots a little closer and Selius's heart thuds heavily again.  
  
”That was nice. Kissing, I mean.” Cornelius says meekly. ”Can we do it again?”  
  
They do, slowly and without urgency this time.  
  


* * *

  
There's a knock on Selius's door a little past eleven that night. When he opens the door he finds Cornelius smiling shyly at him, a bag in his hands.  
  
”Quickly, I think I hear someone,” Selius urges him and Cornelius sneaks past him. They close the door just as someone laughs upstairs and twenty seconds later footsteps go past the door.  
  
”I wonder what they're up to in the dungeons. At such a late hour, no less,” Cornelius wonders out loud.  
  
”Something bad, I'd wager,” Selius answers. He has some ideas, mostly grim and involving explosions and illicitly taken magical trials without proper surveillance, and decides he doesn't need to share them with Cornelius.  
  
Cornelius drops his bag on the desk. It's then that Selius realises he's wearing pajamas and slippers underneath his robe.  
  
”I nicked some food from the dining hall,” Cornelius says and digs out a bundle from the bag. 'Some' food turns out to be half a pie, a dozen fluffy pancakes, sliced ham, a jug of pumpkin juice and an entire platter of scones that have mostly dissolved into crumbs under the weight of all the other foods. They eat, chattering quietly and comparing essay notes, and every now and then their hands brush against each other's casually.  
  
Later, when they're full and sleepy and can't talk without yawning every few words, they manage to squeeze themselves side by side on his narrow bed. Selius hardly dares to breathe so as to not accidentally push Cornelius off the edge. Cornelius's head rests on his shoulder and neither of them says anything as he cards his fingers through the other boy's hair.  
  
”Did I ever properly tell you about that problem I had with my magic?” Selius asks.  
  
”I don't think so. Not in detail, at least.”  
  
”I guess I should fill you in, now that you're here. ”Selius exhales slowly through his mouth, closes his eyes momentarily, and tells Cornelius everything, about the fire, the nightmares, his escape, everything. The words come with more ease the longer he talks, and Cornelius doesn't interrupt him once. He feels lighter with the secret out, as if a weight has been lifted from his chest.  
  
”So the Shadow… he's with you all the time? Even now?”  
  
”He's part of me. I think he'll always be.”  
  
They're both quiet for a long while. Finally, Cornelius shifts and drapes an arm around Selius and squeezes him tight.  
  
”I'm not afraid of you – nor of the other you,” he says quietly. ”And if you have nightmares again, I'll wake you up.”  
  
”Promise?”  
  
”Promise. And, uh, if you can't sleep, I'm here, all right?”  
  
Cornelius kisses his cheek and they talk no more. The last thing Selius thinks of, as he drifts off to his first night of untroubled slumber in more than two years, is the comforting warmth of Cornelius against him.

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue between these two in 9P's 2-player co-op was way too cute not to make anything out of it, and the end roll art in Trine 4 with Selius taking classes with the other students just cemented by desire to make these two interact more. I've never written these characters before, hope you all liked it!


End file.
